Not just for the birds
"The road to Neah Bay is serpentine, a thin twist of wet double-yellow-lined gray. It flirts for twenty miles with the edge of cliffs that seem to stand at the mercy of the Strait of Juan de Fuca and its wide swath of soon-to-be Pacific Ocean. Mapmakers mark it as scenic when it would be …
I can't imagine being an insomniac; sleep has never been a problem for me. Almost every night like clockwork Bob wakes up around 2:30 or 3 and turns on the bedside lamp and starts reading a book and will read for at least a couple of hours. Most nights, I'll wake up, glance at him …
Moving forward. Going backwards, uphill, and slowly descending. Last hunt of 2020 for us was yesterday, I followed Bob around the chukar hills just like the old days. Camera in hand. No shotgun. Winter is my favorite time to be out there. It's quiet. Following tracks of ghosts of deer, elk, and birds. Detective work. …
"Come on dogs, let's go hunting." Not just one dog but two. Not much more work having two. They get fed at the same time, go to bed at the same time, and adapt to each other's miscellaneous routines at home, like, for example, keying off of each other when it comes to hearing something …
Ring, Ring. "Hello, can I help you?" "Do you guys have gas?" Bob asked. I could hear the woman on the other end laughing. "Of course we do, we're a gas station," she answered. "We're only open from 8am-5pm." "Just checking, we'd hate to drive all that way and find out you didn't," he added. …